


At Last

by potterswinchesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, Last Night on Earth, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterswinchesters/pseuds/potterswinchesters





	At Last

Nothing is different tonight at the bunker—nothing except for the tranquility. It’s completely quiet, save for the soft hum of music from the radio on the table, beside a half-eaten pecan pie and a couple empty beer bottles. Dean sits at the table, legs propped up on it, crossed at the ankles. In the air, the trepidation that comes with the most dangerous hunts lingers, thick enough to suffocate. It lurks amidst the calm like a predator waiting to steal away its next victim.

Normally, knowing it’s his last night on Earth, he’d be out fucking some woman, but this time is different. This time, Dean has everything he needs right beside him.

He has Sam, his little brother, who is in his room for the time being, acting as though everything is okay. (It’s a comforting thought to know that after everything, they still have each other.)

He has pie and beer, which Sam tells him are a disgusting combination, but he wholeheartedly disagrees. (It’s the first night in forever that he’s drinking only beer and not the hard stuff; he doesn’t need any whiskey tonight.)

And he has Cas.

Cas, his guardian angel, his best friend, and possibly—

Possibly more.

Cas is sitting beside him, looking thoroughly invested in a book he’s reading. There’s a crease between his eyebrows. It’s almost always there, but particularly when he’s interested in something, or when he’s confused about humanity.

When the song on the radio changes to something slow, Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat and his gaze involuntarily flickers to Cas. Cas doesn’t even flinch; he merely remains bent over his book and continues reading. Dean tries not to stare at him, tries not to think what it would feel like to feel the angel’s stubble rough against his own cheeks or the angel’s eyelashes fluttering against his own freckled skin.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks to himself. He has pushed away his feelings for so long that he’s used to them being there. Usually, he just ignores them, and he’s gotten good at it, too. But tonight’s different. The hunt they’re going to go on tomorrow is going to be the end—that much he knows. So he can’t.

He can’t hold it in for one more second.

He removes his feet from the table and stands up so abruptly that the sudden movement makes Cas look over at him.

Breathing is not coming very easy to him at the moment. He swallows nervously, forcing air in and out of his lungs.

“Let’s dance,” he says, extending his hand to Cas. When Cas eyes it, confused, Dean wiggles his fingers, pretending that this isn’t completely out of character for him. “C’mon, Cas, let’s dance.”

“Um… but why?”

“Why not?” The answer makes for a weak argument, but Dean can’t bring himself to tell the angel that there is, in fact, no reason other than the fact that he _wants_ to. He _wants_ to feel Cas’s fingers splayed across his shoulder blades, Cas’s head in the crook of his neck, Cas’s arms pulling him close.

“W-what? But—Dean—I don’t know how to do this,” Cas replies, something akin to nerves strumming at his vocal cords.

“You just gotta move, Cas,” Dean tells him softly, his normally gruff tone dissipating. “Just sway back and forth, it ain’t hard. _C’mon_.” He raises his hand to tap the angel’s cheek with one finger. “Your book’ll still be there when we’re done, alright? It’s gettin’ awkward now. Take my damn hand, sunshine.”

_Before I lose the courage and change my mind._

Hesitantly, Cas stands, laces his hand with Dean’s calloused one and takes a step towards him. A sudden bout of mischief curls the corners of Dean’s lips as he tugs at their interlocked hands, pulling Cas roughly into his chest. A small gasp escapes Cas’s lips, but he blinks the confusion away before fixing Dean’s green eyes with the same intense stare as usual. Dean’s heart pounds against his ribs; he resists the urge to card his hand through the angel’s dark hurricane hair and instead allows it to rest somewhere between his waist and the small of his back.

At first, Cas is stiff all over; when Dean massages his hand with his thumb, Cas finally melts into him. Dean’s pupils are so dilated that they almost swallow up the green of his irises. They share a look that lasts a million years and speaks a million words. In Dean’s case, it’s everything he should’ve said long ago.

Everything he still can’t say out loud.

_I wish we had more time._

_I want to hold you forever._

He drags his gaze from Cas’s blue eyes, deep as the ocean, to his parted lips. He can’t help but lick his own as he thinks about kissing him right then and there, but he’s still not brave enough.

_I never want to take advantage of this again. Of having you beside me._

_I need you._

Dean slowly releases Cas’s hand, which he had been clutching for dear life. He takes Cas’s wrist and draws the angel’s arm around his back.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I_ love _you._

Then he breaks their stare—their fervent, lustful, loving stare. Dean pulls Cas closer, and Cas buries his head into Dean’s shoulder. They sway to some song that Dean would probably have denied enjoying a mere day ago. Even when the song changes to something less slow, they pretend the first one hasn’t ended, and they sway.

Later, Sam will emerge from his room with tired eyes that tell tales of lost loves and lingering hope. He’ll find his brother and his best friend with their arms wrapped around one another, and he’ll smile softly, and it’ll be the first smile to reach his eyes in a long time, because he _knows_. Right then and there, he’ll readily accept whatever ineluctable fate is headed their way.

Later, Dean will sit down and have the last of the pie, and he’ll even offer a bite to Cas. Cas will protest and claim that he can’t taste anything properly anyway, but Dean will insist and the angel will take a bite right off Dean’s fork. And he’ll enjoy it; not because of the taste, but because of the way Dean’s gaze follows his mouth as he licks the crumbs from his lips.

Later, Cas will say goodnight to Dean (not goodbye—never _goodbye_ ), an embrace inevitably following, and maybe—just maybe—Dean will press a whisper of a kiss to his angel’s lips. It’ll be soft enough to allow Cas to pull away if he wants to, but when it’s over, Dean will sweep from the room long before Cas even opens his eyes. Still savouring the past few moments as a chorus of _at last_ s and _please come back_ s resound in his head.


End file.
